Make 'em Smile
by Orin Drake
Summary: Sora reflects on what was ripped away from him and why he should give a damn. (5404 - Now "complete".)
1. Default Chapter

_Make 'em Smile_ and the overall concept of _Make 'em Smile_ are completely copyright Orin Drake 2004. The game _Kingdom Hearts_ belongs to Sony and Squaresoft and Disney and all them good people-like creatures, as do the characters of Cloud Strife, Mickey Mouse, Riku, Sora, Kairi, Squall Leonhart/Leon, the Heartless, and a bunch of other things I'm probably just too lazy to list up here. What's important is that I am making absolutely no money off of my writing, fan fiction or otherwise. That sucks in some respects, and frankly it kinda ticks me off, but I do it for the love of it so I'm ultimately okay with that. In case you cared to know. And I bet you didn't, but I'm feeling chatty and you will suffer.   
Background: It all started with my own challenge to friends, writers and artists alike: I gave them three lines of some poetic thing I'd written a while back and told them to do whatever they wanted with it. So it was only fair that I got an entry in myself. The words? They were simply, "Massacred wreck/ What the heck/ Make 'em Smile". This became a _Kingdom Hearts_ fan fiction completely by accident. I suppose as soon as I wrote the first paragraph, I knew who it had to be written about. I guess Link isn't the only one completely unsafe from my love of mentally torturing heroes. Sorry, doll. It had to be done. At this point many things are open to interpretation, and I'm waiting impatiently for _Kingdom Hearts 2_... so here comes a little of the aggression. Dammit, Sora. I blame you, too.   
  
  


Make 'em Smile   
Part 1   
by Orin Drake 

Ugh. More blood in his mouth. He was so sick of the taste of his own blood. Busted, broken... as if it didn't hurt enough right then, it would be even worse in the morning. If there even would be a morning, another sunrise. Had anyone been there to ask him if he cared to see another morning... he'd have answered their inquiries with relatively negative responses. And likely some interesting curses he'd learned along the way.   
This time it'd been his own fault, though. He hadn't been paying enough attention, hadn't looked in the dark shadows of the evening hard enough and one of those mechanical whatever-the-hells had gotten him in the face, knocking him clean off his feet. He carefully tested his jaw for the hundredth time to make sure it wasn't broken. No, just swollen a bit. There was a gash in his cheek, but most of the bleeding had stopped. At least it hadn't gone all the way through... he shuddered with that thought. Not pleasant in the least.   
Ah well; not so bad, either. He'd gotten some blood in his mouth, alright, but no teeth had been knocked out. That was a little bit of a victory. Well, that and driving his Keyblade straight through that damned Heartless, twisting. Oh, he made certain that the last thing that little bastard saw was the look of satisfaction on his face as he twisted that blade through it's "chest"...   
How times had changed. He never would have pictured himself doing anything like that, ever. He was never even one to exterminate the insects that all too often found their way into the tree house. It just didn't seem appropriate. Everyone made fun of him for being the one to cup the little bugs between his hands and put them outside, talking to them the whole time... but it had been the only thing he felt right about doing.   
The major difference being, the bugs were natural. Heartless... were not. Add to that how they were constantly trying to kill him over a period of years, and... well. Times changed. So did things like patience and mercy, he supposed, running a hand through his disturbingly unkempt hair. Though he still wouldn't crush a bug if he could help it.   
For no reason he could truly understand, he stopped midway through trying to straighten out the long rat's nest atop his head and gazed at his palms. They seemed... foreign. Bigger than they should. Like the years had slipped away from him in too many ways to fathom. They were calloused and dry, flecks of torn skin sometimes catching against the fabric of his shirt and making him realize how far he'd come. That... sucked. It really hurt, sometimes. He just sat there, right where he'd killed that Heartless scant moments before, and stared at his hands. The hands that killed... so many things. If they were ever really alive in the first place. The hands that were too strong for darkness to grasp... but not strong enough to keep the things he truly treasured close.   
He winced with that thought, shoving it as far away from his mind as it would go. But the fucker came back. Memories, reminders, awful pictures of times long since passed... that he'd never have again. All that shit with the Heartless, all these years of fighting... Kairi... Riku... Wasn't he _ever_ going to fucking be in peace?! Maybe he should let them go. Just let them all die. Screw this hero bullshit! The Keyblade could pick another master as easily as it had cursed him! Let the world die, and all the others that were suffering.   
But in the end, he knew better. In the end... he knew he wasn't doing it for his world. He wasn't doing it for anyone else's world, or the preservation of reality as they knew it. Not even to keep the darkness away. He was doing it for himself, deep down in the very hardest to understand part of his mind. Himself and Kairi and... and Riku. He still _believed_, dammit. Like a child holding firmly to the idea that all things could be good and beautiful, he still clung desperately to the belief that Riku could be whole again... himself again... Some nights he even prayed for it, though he no longer believed in any "higher power". There couldn't be one. Not after what he'd seen and been through. Fighting, running... it was no way to live. Nothing to call his own.   
As for Kairi... he honestly didn't know where she was. Or if she were even alive. The last time he'd seen her... it seemed too long ago to properly remember her face. They were all so young, then... in so many ways... he'd promised he'd come back, and he had. But... it wasn't under the best of circumstances. And it had never felt right. Things were never again as easy as they had been in that place, that time... beyond his ability to imagine any longer...   
Even the friends and allies he had made along the way had fallen, one by one. Cloud had long since given in to the darkness. It's not that he didn't fight it--he did, with his last breath. But in the end... he couldn't hold on. It was Sephiroth's doing, somehow... but even that psychotic killer wasn't to blame entirely. They were like two halves of the same magnificent thing... but neither could have held on. They both must have had some kind of connection to Aeris; after she was ripped apart by Heartless... they just didn't seem to have any reason not to destroy themselves, nevermind one another and the darkness that eventually devoured them both.   
And Leon. Cold, hard-headed Leon. He'd ultimately found himself unable to deal with the increasing battles, the Heartless that were getting stronger and smarter. He was strong, and he had tried with all his strength of mind and body... but when Yuffie was tortured and died right there in front of him... there was no more Leon. There was no more Squall. He finally cracked, dropping his gunblade and letting the wave of Heartless eat him alive.   
And King Mickey? Fuck King Mickey. That _rat_ had gotten him into this mess in the first place... All of those fucking jolly talking animals... they were gone. That's all he really remembered. Like everyone else that had fallen by the wayside, they were merely _gone_ One moment, they'd been there... and the next... Maybe he hadn't cast his recovery magic quickly enough. Maybe he'd underestimated the cloaked figures, but... he was at fault, there was no doubt. But at that point... there had been no more mourning left inside of him.   
But now, staring blankly at his palms... he wanted to scream. He wanted to take out all of his aggression on some little Heartless piece of shit. He _wanted_... what did he want? To curl up with Kairi and watch the sunset, maybe... and then Riku...   
He winced, the gash on his cheek stinging madly all of a sudden. It took a moment to realize that it had been because of a tear having escaped down his face. The realization made his body limp, his already sore back making hard contact with the ground. He laid there, staring upward with wide, sightless eyes, in shock... realizing at last that it was just... that easy.   
No--no, he _couldn't_!--but it was too late. Once one tear had finally stricken him... It was a flood. A godawful, raging storm, draining every portion of his mind. He sobbed silently until his body shook, until no more moisture would come. He wept for the innocence lost, for the island... for memories he'd abandoned and unwanted ones that weighed him down... for the possibility that Kairi remembered him... and the possibility that she had forgotten... for what Riku had been through for his sake and for his own, to have become at once so soulless and so much more himself than before... for the worlds that would never be sealed, for the people already dead and those that would suffer their loss... for gods reduced to ash and peasants that were not ready for power... for parents he hardly remembered and would never see again... for things he knew he could never really feel again...   
Where was his _life_? Who the hell decided that it was not his own?! Couldn't he give in? Couldn't he give it all up to that sweet surrender of darkness that followed him in his every waking moment, haunting his sleep in those few heartbeats in time where he was able to feign relaxation? Couldn't he drop the Keyblade in front of the next army of Heartless and beg them to rip him apart?   
He screamed up to the sky, but his voice did not work. He kept crying out in crashing breaths, not words but passions, emotions, memories and desires--the things that made him ache. Things that once made him whole, but now made him crumble. The things that made him wish he had the fucking balls to slice his wrists open with that goddamn cursed blade and watch the life drain from them. His childhood was destroyed--did the rest of his life have to suffer the same fate?!   
Rain. Just a fleck at first. Then a sprinkle. It wasn't heavy, and it never would be. There was never enough rain to wash away sins. Hardly enough to wash away blood... and it served a horrific reminder on his path. But it was rain... wet, and cool, and somehow darkly soothing.   
Finally it was gone. The tears, the rage, the hate, the helplessness, the madness--it snapped off like a light switch as the sky wept for him. He was curled into himself, shaking... gasping for something that would never soothe his lungs like the carefree days on the island with his two best friends... The secret place would never again be secret. Now it was only his true feelings... his heart. Or what was left of it, anyway.   
His stomach ached, and for a moment he held his breath with the understanding that he was on the verge of releasing some of the acid churning in his gut... but that much passed. As it must. He had learned along the way that it was better to keep it down than risk losing precious hydration. At least the rain would keep his mouth moist if he paused once in a while to stick his tongue out. Like he used to do when he was a little boy. If those days ever really existed.   
The Heartless had done a number on him, alright. But they had only reached his body. In the end, his mind was still his own... and he carefully regained control. Whatever happened to his former self? That small, scrawny child that was always smiling despite how fucking awful things were getting? Perhaps that child was dead. Given over to darkness in exchange for... whatever it was. It wasn't "life"... but it wasn't without its moments, he supposed. Granted that he couldn't think of a recent occurrence that he cared to remember, but... there must be one. There _must_ be. He could _not_ let the darkness take him.   
He was a child no longer... and sitting up straight, he knew he must eventually come to accept that. No, maybe he wasn't a "man", yet... but he felt as though he'd lived a million lifetimes. And none of them were as good as that first one. So he must have kept fucking up on the reincarnation scale.   
At least that gave him a little chuckle. It would have been enough... if he hadn't caught sight of... oh, god...   
He could only make out the pale skin from under the hood... a touch of silver hair that was too eerily familiar to be ignored... but no eyes. He couldn't make out the eyes, couldn't make certain... But in the wretched depths of his gut, he knew. He could feel it, sense it, taste it... the figure moved out of the dark moistness of the night, closer. And still he could not manage the will to move. He hadn't the strength, all of a sudden.   
The figure approached within feet before it finally stopped; the hood still hiding most of the facial features. "Keyblade Master..." the voice was... rough. Foreign. Dark and deep and far away... but so familiar. He almost choked on that familiarity... and wished to hell that he had. Just to give him peace. Distance.   
No matter. He could not allow it to grab a hold of him. He'd had enough of that for one night. Stumbling, he finally got to his feet and held his weapon in front of him. No answer. He had no response for the sleep-walking memory in front of him.   
The figure's lips parted ever so slightly, the lower portion of the angled, grown-up face seeming to struggle for words. When the voice came, it was so... brutally recognizable... "S--... Sora..."   
He cringed, the sudden tension in his already bruised jaw causing his teeth to ache. _Don't speak that name... please, please don't say that name..._   
All at once, the voice that had been there seemed to vanish. Once again, the empty darkness that managed to take over the shell of a body emerged; its voice, even in a whisper, was as unpleasant as a screaming harpy's. "Aren't you ready to surrender yet?"   
"Nah." He tried his best to be reassuring, even if the gesture of smiling brought forth more blood from his busted lip. He held the Keyblade strong between his fists and readied himself for a grand battle--   
That was not to be. He'd seen the figure move, dart with unnatural speed toward him, had lifted the weapon to counter--but he'd never expected that. He'd never... there hadn't even been the thought that...   
The hand on his cheek was cold as death. But the touch... the familiarity under the alien slither... That touch was the tainted whisper of so many possibilities... that could never be. It was not him, not really. It was a shell with very little memory, and even less heart. With no compassion. And no real consciousness of the soul that may or may not still belong to the body.   
He saw the eyes. Powers of heaven and hell help him, he saw the blue eyes--   
The cloaked figure used the Keyblade Master's moment of surrender to render him useless, casting a bolt of white-hot energy through the blade and up his arms. The boy cried out, his palms seared and burning, his surprise melting away instantly into a perfect split between survival instinct and the desire to die. He fell to the ground, grasping desperately for a spell or a potion--   
_Crack!_ A rib was most assuredly broken, as was all concentration. Despite his best efforts to hold it in, there was no way that strangled cry could be reigned back when another rib was snapped by the boot of the figure looming above. Through the unwanted tears of agony, he could just make out a circle of small Neo Heartless around them, their eyes slitted and glowing brightly. At least they were laughing... right? Yeah. At least they were enjoying this... smiling, in their own twisted way. Ready to watch what was to come... Massacred wreck. What the heck. Make 'em smile. 


	2. Chapter 2

_Make 'em Smile_ and the overall concept of _Make 'em Smile_ are completely copyright Orin Drake 2004. The game _Kingdom Hearts_ belongs to Sony and Squaresoft and Disney and all them good people-like creatures, as do the characters of Cloud Strife, Mickey Mouse, Riku, Sora, Kairi, Squall Leonhart/Leon, the Heartless, and a bunch of other things I'm probably just too lazy to list up here. What's important is that I am making absolutely no money off of my writing, fan fiction or otherwise. That sucks in some respects, and frankly it kinda ticks me off, but I do it for the love of it so I'm ultimately okay with that. In case you cared to know. And I bet you didn't, but I'm feeling chatty and you will suffer.   
Background: It all started with my own challenge to friends, writers and artists alike: I gave them three lines of some poetic thing I'd written a while back and told them to do whatever they wanted with it. So it was only fair that I got an entry in myself. The words? They were simply, "Massacred wreck/ What the heck/ Make 'em Smile". This became a _Kingdom Hearts_ fan fiction completely by accident. I suppose as soon as I wrote the first paragraph, I knew who it had to be written about. I guess Link isn't the only one completely unsafe from my love of mentally torturing heroes. Sorry, doll. It had to be done. At this point many things are open to interpretation, and I'm waiting impatiently for _Kingdom Hearts 2_... so here comes a little of the aggression. Dammit, Sora. I blame you, too.   


_And in case you've ignored the warning (to which I say, "What the fuck?" because, yes, there's "nasty language" here, too) or happen to be one of those people that just likes to be an asshole, this part contains yaoi (a.k.a. slash, a.k.a. two beings [males, in this case] of the same gender doing sexual things together). Not only that, but there's violence and nonconsensual activity. Are we clear? Excellent. Proceed._   
  
  
  


Make 'em Smile   
Part 2   
by Orin Drake 

"Too bad about those ribs." The demon inside teased viciously. "Perhaps I should take care of that."   
Still on the ground, he was surprised to feel the warm embrace of recovery magic wash over him--right before he was kicked even harder than before, on the other side of his ribcage. He gasped, the shattering pain making him shiver every time he tried to catch his breath, spikes of agony getting harder and harder to manage. So, that was the trick. How... unpleasant.   
Once more he was momentarily blessed with the healing magic--and he bolted. Fuck the Heartless, fuck the suicidal thoughts moments before. It was survival instinct all the way--   
That _crack_ was considerably louder than the others. Not to mention the pain threshold having spiked and multiplied in a way that was not at all computing, rendering him a writhing, soundlessly gasping mass on the ground. It had been his whole goddamn right leg from the hip down... a fact made even more horrific when he went to instinctually grasp the wound and _felt_ a shard of bone with his fingers, nothing but blood inbetween...   
The figure looming above gave out a screeching laugh at the Keyblade Master's very human, very weak, reaction. "Let us not bother with wasting any more energy, hm?"   
The next wave of recovery magic was of a vaguely familiar variety; he hadn't needed such severe healing in quite some time, and back then the bone hadn't been broken that badly. It _hurt_, burning like a million tiny heated pins through his flesh. It was enough of a relief to allow him a breath, but the searing remained for several drawn-out seconds, making him wonder if it would ever stop. The hot pain of spikes in his skin gave way only to an uncontrollable tremble in all of the muscles being healed, making his leg twitch even as the bone and tendon were being placed correctly.   
When at last it was over, most of the hurt and discomfort had finally faded away... but there were so many more horrible things to ponder. This time, however, he stayed down. Maybe there was a point to saving his strength... or maybe this, of all times, would be his chance... He turned his head slightly to gaze up at the hooded figure, seeing the sharp smirk clearly. Oh yes, there were still plans for him, he had no doubt... but... but maybe...   
"You aren't planning to run again, are you?" the figure mocked quietly.   
"No." He responded, his voice surprisingly rough. "You?"   
The hooded thing almost managed to laugh--and that's what caught him. The sound... no, it wasn't all there. Riku's laughter had been so different, more full and youthful, but... Dammit, he _heard_ it. He _knew_ he heard it, like a whisper in the background. He remembered it so clearly, as something he guarded close and sacred in his memory to keep him alive, keep him fighting... Was there a chance? Somewhere deep inside, was there still a chance to draw the boy out of the monster?   
But in the end... did he really wish to do that? It was no longer even his pride, nor his humanity that was questioning... it was for the boy he'd known so long ago. The boy... a boy no longer. Perhaps a person no longer... but he knew he'd heard that voice. He _knew_ it, beyond illusion and beyond the pain clouding his mind. That voice that only moments ago had said his name--a name even he had almost forgotten--and his heart had ached. It was _possible_, dammit--   
But what happened if Riku really were able to "wake up"? After... what his body had been forced to do over the years... what his salvageable memories had been used for... his soul... his _heart_...   
The figure's shrill voice tore him away from his thought process. "An interesting threat you make. But I think not." A gloved hand rose, palm flat, facing the ground--it was too late to think. The fingers flexed outward, and at that command, all of the Neo Heartless suddenly melted, instantaneously forming together into one viscous puddle of gleaming darkness. And the Keyblade Master... he knew enough to run. He knew enough to leap into a mad sprint and keep fucking running until his muscles gave out--but the darkness was faster. His position on the ground afforded just enough time before he was able to gain footing on the wet earth; the pool of darkness leapt out at him, long, thin limbs of solid, shimmering black ensnared him like living ropes. He kicked, struggled, strained madly against them, but the ones wrapped around his chest constricted. The already raw flesh and unsteady bones only made it harder to breathe, and his entire body fell limply under the command of the tendrils clasped around him.   
"Tisk. Tisk." The demon voice whispered in the back of his consciousness. He was of no mind to throw back a couple of choice words himself, starting to feel only a growing terror as the restriction of his chest retreated only enough to allow him air. Slowly pulled back into full consciousness, nothing about the situation was looking in his favor. He was suspended tightly in the grip of hundreds of thin, strong limbs of pure darkness, completely immobile, at the mercy of... whatever it was. It was powerful, and cruel. He tried to move his head to find the cloaked form, but the restraints would not allow it.   
"Do not waste that precious energy just yet." The harpy voice came from behind him.   
The godawful possibilities that tone held... His thoughts were nearly sliced through completely as he felt the dark ropes shift around him, the tearing of fabric quite clear. A moment later, he felt the misting rain against bare shoulders. _Bare shoulders..._   
The tendrils twisted all at once, the power and force of their working together successfully rending the clothes he wore. What didn't fall to bits instantly was jerked apart with increasing violence, yanked against his skin until it, too, fell from his body. And the rain fell against him, making him even colder than he thought possible.   
But the panic had yet to set in. The ropes of blackness shifted again, grasping his limbs and turning him roughly, bringing him sharply to the ground on his hands and knees... spread. Open. Exposed and rendered helpless in a way he'd never actually thought about before. His wide eyes caught sight of the hooded figure standing in front of him, the lips curved upward in a horrible smile--his mind clicked on again, calling upon the instinct to _fight_; but the darkness held him perfectly still, no matter his struggles. _Then_ the panic washed over him like a cold ocean, but it was not death he was afraid of. No, he'd come to understand that there were a million other things better feared than eternal peace...   
The figure walked to him slowly, stopping only when the leather boot was inches from his face. It stayed there for many long seconds, giving the panic plenty of time to churn to the surface again. The possibilities had started to present themselves in his mind, regardless of how hard he tried to push them away. He'd almost been able to control himself again when the figure shifted... then began to walk, circling, behind him.   
He grit his teeth, holding in the panicked squeak he felt welling up in his throat, once more pulling madly at the tendrils which held him. It was no use, and no matter. He felt the brush of air as the figure stopped just behind him, so close he swore he could feel the painfully slight heat coming from the other body.   
"I would prefer you like this..." the voice taunted, "But then I couldn't see the pain on your face."   
All at once, the limbs of darkness shifted again, flipping his body and slamming his back hard against the ground. He was allowed one moment to kick, to squirm, to struggle--and then four tendrils flew from underneath him, catching his limbs and pulling them wide. The shock was almost too much to think around.   
The figure stood above him, smirking cruelly as the unseen eyes took in every inch, up and down. Layered beautifully onto the options presented was the fact that the Keyblade Master was _shaking_. Oh, he tried to hide it, tried to ignore and forget... but it was there. It was... delicious... "And at last I can prove to you that all of your life has been in vain... before I destroy you."   
To express the helpless thoughts running around in his head now would be worse than suicide. His voice may not have been absolutely firm, but his words were. "That's not true."   
"It is." The awful voice hissed--and then the hood was pulled back. Given nowhere to turn, the trapped boy on the ground could only stare up in a mix of hope and disgust. Riku's face, his body... taken over by such powerful negativity... It acknowledged the look upon its victim's face, jamming the imagined blade deeper with terribly simple words. "Ansem was the start... Ansem finally broke him..."   
That name... was not one he cared to hear. The entire situation was not anything close to one he'd have ever really thought possible. And though he was quite certain things would only get worse and worse until there could be nothing more horrible to accomplish, he had to take his chance. He had to see... to find out, just maybe... "What did he do to you, Riku?"   
"You will _not_ address that name!" the voice screeched, the eyes widening in hate and horror. It seemed to calm itself before continuing, stepping closer and slowly, almost teasingly, drawing the zipper of the long coat open. "That name is gone. Dead."   
His heart began to beat faster, that cold sweat of panic starting to overwhelm his senses. He could hang on for so long, tell himself to calm the hell down only so often... "What happened to you?" he whispered, trying again.   
"You speak to the dead." The figure condemned, dropping the coat behind. It grinned deviously as the victim laid out before it took in the sight with a wide, still gaze. "You speak to a thing long since destroyed. One you would not save... just like all the others."   
And still he could not surrender to the guilt, the pain, the fear... the fact that a chance was still there, that the thing in front of him, carelessly pulling off the very little that remained masking its nakedness, item by item, kept trying to confirm Riku's death... "He took your innocence, didn't he? Used your heart..."   
"Quiet, fool." It responded harshly. As if that were a command to the tendrils, they pulled their prisoner yet further open. All things once covering any expanse of flesh finally on the ground, it began to move closer to its prey.   
And prey he was most certainly feeling like. Instead of a stately, fluid motion, the predator somewhat let the legs fall from underneath itself, effectively pouncing atop the restrained prisoner and pressing its full body against him all at once. It was such a departure from the cold, empty moisture of the rainy night; but far was it from welcome, or comforting.   
As the wicked thing above him gave a satisfied smirk, the tendrils of darkness suddenly seemed to give a little. Still secured to the ground and his limbs, they acted a little more like ropes of rubber, allowing him only enough movement to shift a bit. Or to be shifted. It offered no means of escape, but perhaps--   
A cold hand grasped firm hold of his thigh, lifting; the black ropes adjusted accordingly to keep the chosen leg lifted and bent at the knee. The other cold hand was atop his other leg, forcing it to remain down. Spread in all ways, helpless in all senses, he managed to focus solely on the eyes of his attacker. They were still so familiar... even now, even hidden underneath the darkness, they were so brutally remembered... he'd let himself believe.   
Unprepared, unwilling, unknowing--the pale shadow of a lovely creature quickly placed its hands squarely on the boy's hips and moved in for the kill. Stabbing, thrusting, forcing forward, it slowly impaled the shivering body beneath, reveling in the broken screams. It took many thrusts just to get all the way inside, the shrieking victim beneath never having experienced any such activities. The suffering was so luscious, so glorious... it looked down on its target, watching the face of a horrified, pained _human_ thing so very weak... rendered weaker with every drawn out, wicked motion...   
And still through the absolutely horrendous pain, the one given the power of the Keyblade could not allow himself to surrender without a fight. It was agonizing in too many ways, but if he could pretend... There was almost nothing left of himself to hold on to. Pride didn't matter, anything and everything he'd ever _been_ no longer meant shit. "I always wanted this..." he whispered, trying to force the pain out of his voice, trying to make the moans of agony into something more heartfelt. "Secretly, I always waited for this moment... I always hoped it would come... Riku..."   
Anger erupted in the monster above him, resulting in a quick series of tearing, mind-searing thrusts before the initial slow rhythm was gained once more. "No..." the insane, unnaturally pitched harpy voice began to ebb, just slightly. "You wanted _Kairi_, you ungrateful--"   
"Yeah." He admitted, squeaking and squeezing his eyes shut when the pain overwhelmed his ability to think once again, relentless. He was going hoarse, little by little... but he tried to blink away the tears in reflex of the burning agony ripping through him. He had to see, had to see if he could find... "I wanted you both..."   
Rage flooded even the darkness of the blue eyes that bore down upon him, and therein came the most violently hate-filled thrust yet. It wrung a breathless cry, drowned out by the demanding voice of something so close to human... "Then why didn't you stay with her and leave the rest to darkness?!"   
Maybe... _Please, stop, Riku... you don't mean this..._ "She had no room in her life for me."   
"_Does it look like I do?!_" he screamed, his voice torn open and pouring pain like an open wound, hands leaving bruises on the hips in their grasp.   
--But it was _his_ voice. The Keyblade Master knew it as certainly as he could smell his own blood. The darkness clouding those brilliant eyes broke, released--the light of his heart began to show through, weak though it had been forced to become.   
The heavy wave of memory and the understanding of what he was doing caused him to thrust forward once more, unknowingly too close to the edge to be able to pull away. He collapsed bonelessly over the boy underneath him, momentarily too wrapped up in hollow but necessary ecstasy even to weep.   
Brutalized as he was, the prisoner underneath made to reach up in reflex of the actions--surprised by finding himself able to do so. The tendrils of darkness that once held him had somehow given way, disappearing completely into the ground with the rain. Slowly, treating the spent form above him like a delicate, broken artifact, he raised his hands and rested them against the back of the shivering body. The act itself... of finally holding the boy he'd spent so long trying to find... he shivered as well, not fully understanding why he wasn't sobbing twice as hard as he had been earlier. It felt at once unreal, and too real in his heart to ever question.   
The touch received... it caused a single, strained sob to wrack his seemingly alien body before he gave into the peace that it offered. It was total surrender to a force he could not help but trust. That, he knew, would cost him. But it would be worth it for the moments they could lay together like that, and remember...   
--That peace was not to last, however. Peace would never find the boy that had chosen to follow the shadows, and total surrender into the only one he could ever fully trust was not allowed him. He felt the darkness trickle back in, seemingly amused at his youthful hope of escaping. "Sora!" he cried out, feeling a dark tendril from the thing that had taken him over begin to stroke the light of his heart once more. He shifted and pulled away, afraid more than anything that his mind would be lost and his body would wind up doing something even more awful..   
_ "Don't worry, sweet little thing."_ The dark demon in his mind teased, edging closer. _"Just close your eyes and it'll all be over again..."_   
"Sora, please!" He begged desperately, pushing the darkness away with all of his strength. "Don't let them do this to me again! _Sora!_"   
Hearing his name suddenly so needed and natural across those pale, pleading lips, he reached up to grasp the clenched fists, feeling the impossible tension radiate through them. _No, no, no!_ "What, Riku?! What will they do? What can _I_ do?"   
Perhaps it was the combination of nightmare fear and moisture in the brightest of blue eyes, but for a moment he looked no older than he had when they'd first met on the island. "Not again! I can't do this again! Sora! _Make me remember!_"   
"Don't make me hurt you, Riku..." he found himself begging, not knowing why but unable to hold back the words. Anything but that. He would do _anything_ but that, even if it meant the sacrifice of his own life...   
"They won't let me die." The boy sobbed, collapsing back onto the warm body below. "I tried... so many times, I've tried..."   
_I would never try to kill you..._ he wanted to speak, but his conscience wouldn't let him. His sorrow wouldn't allow it. "Then what?" the brunette shook him lightly by the shoulders, trying to get the panic to leave long enough to get an answer--   
"I have to break their hold." He whispered, shaking. He could feel the darkness strain to reach him, fight to get hold of his light... "I'm not strong enough!"   
Somehow Sora could feel the internal struggle as clearly as if he were living it for himself. He could not let the boy go, no matter the consequence. "You _are_, Riku! I know you are!"   
"I have to remember! You have to make me remember!" he insisted, forcing himself to meet the other pair of eyes gazing up worriedly. "Sora, please... hurt me..."   
"I-I... can't, Riku--"   
"You have to! Mark me! Please!" He brought his fists down onto the other boy's chest, not hard enough to hurt but to get his point across. "Leave something on this body!" His pleas were beyond the point of simple desperation. If he wasn't left with a remembrance, he may never be able to find his way out again... the only way it couldn't be destroyed was if this reminder were _on_ him; something physical that could be hidden, maybe, but not destroyed.   
Begged, pleaded with... the situation being as it was... he didn't see how he could say no. Even if it hurt them both... he nodded once, barely. Wordlessly, they shifted position--though he found it incredibly hard not to scream with every motion. He concentrated on keeping his breathing relatively steady, trying to keep only that one goal in mind until he was carefully sitting on his haunches next to the frightened boy on the ground... looking very much like he was reliving something in the past. No, the Keyblade Master doubted very much that his encounter with the ropes of darkness and hooded figures had been unique. He didn't speak it, and he barely dared to think it; not now.   
"In the coat..." the paler boy's voice quivered only slightly. "There's a knife in an inside pocket..."   
The brunette reached over, cursing quietly when the internal wounds reminded him not to reach too far. But fuck it, he did anyway--paying with another shuddering cry. Gasping, he tried to ignore the pain long enough to find the pocket, carefully pulling the knife out of the sheath and coat at once. It was a short dagger, but one that proved almost unimaginably sharp when he delicately ran the pad of his thumb alongside the blade. Yes, it would most certainly do the job quickly, but...   
The answering blue eyes met his for a moment, pleading. Telling him it was okay, without words. Wanting what he could give... what he would offer. There was no way he could deny the request.   
For need of a better position, he carefully crawled atop the other's body, somehow managing to suppress the shards of pain into several low grunts. Seated as comfortably as he was going to be, his hand shook, the blade within it trembling. He didn't see how he could do it, couldn't fathom how his hands could cause his friend any more pain... but those eyes were so pleading, so scared... He closed his own and took a steady breath. To do what needed to be done... yeah. That was familiar.   
Swallowing, he placed the tip against the pale chest... slowly drawing it to the left, trying to think of what to carve, of what could work... What came to him made him shudder--but it was too late by then. The shiver in his body had caused the knife to cut, a tiny trickle of blood beginning to fall. It was now or never--and he had to honor that request in every way he could. Eyes narrowing in forced concentration, he grasped firm hold of the knife and made a deep, quick mark.   
The boy underneath him cried out, but placed his hands on the brunette's bare sides. _Go on,_ the motion said, where words would not come. _Go on..._   
One more slice... then another, each one wringing out a pained gasp underneath him. He was as quick and careful as he could be, as this act would allow him to be, keeping in mind not to put too much of his weight on the body below, to cut only deep enough and only with the sharpest part of the blade...   
He tried to be as disconnected as his mind would allow, carving into the flesh. It was like nothing he'd ever been able to imagine himself doing; even in his darkest of moments. Actually _cutting_ that perfect ivory skin, watching the crimson blood splash and run down, feeling his best friend in all the world squirm underneath him, moaning in pain even as he tried to keep the sounds inside of himself... It was at once awful and completely fulfilling. The letters carved, the way the muscles clenched and the gasps sounded so close to what he'd really wanted, what he really needed--   
The blood poured in thin streams by the time he was done, discarding the knife with a careless toss. Even with the cuts he'd made, he knew that there was a chance they would not produce a lasting scar... and so there was only one thing he could do. Looking down apologetically, he tried to somehow communicate his intentions through his eyes. There was no way he could trust his voice.   
Still squirming with the pain of being cut open, mixed with the rain and the cold he suddenly felt... the silver tressed boy looked back, swallowing. He had a hint, only an idea--   
The brunette closed his eyes tightly at the shriek. He just couldn't stand it, couldn't take it so easily as before. It was the only way to assure scars, to make it whole... and he couldn't stop once he'd started. He ground the dirt hard into the bleeding wounds, wincing at every high pitched cry it wrung from below. It had to be done, this had to be done... He felt a little place inside of him, something held within the crushing depths of his soul, _warm_. He gasped in fear of the truth--it was his darkness. That thing carried inside everyone... was delighting with the pain. Growing more... sensitive with it. The dark portions caught delight off of the boy's struggles, intriguing pleasure off of his pain. _Riku's_ pain.   
--Pain made even more excruciating with what he'd just done. He hadn't even known, hadn't really thought or understood... But the fact remained that they were both naked, and he was on top, and there had been that moment when... when... and the darkness just felt so good to understand for that moment, to let loose for only that second--it felt so--   
Underneath him, there was a mild struggle. With hardly any strength left as it was, there was no hope of pushing the weight off... or out. The pain was too intense, the torture too wrenching on too many levels. It wasn't a nightmare set to destroy his mind, this time--it was _real_. It was _Sora_. Blood and dirt and rain and... _this_...   
_Oh, god!--no, but--fuck, it--!!!_ It was a soft cry, but an obvious one. With one last thrust of his palm into the bleeding, open wound, in union with one last thrust into the clenching body below him, he'd finally released. And what he felt in the wake of that most exceptional pleasure... was a most wicked, horrific darkness.   
But the eyes widely gazing up at him understood... and forgave, unconditionally. It was only a matter of time. Even the lightest of hearts, when thrust into the kind of situation he had been...   
They weren't even allowed a moment of peace. The Keyblade Master felt the physical darkness rising in the body surrounding him, and instinct forced him to retreat. The time to run was coming too quickly. He needed more strength. He needed more light... more friends, more allies. Maybe they weren't all lost. Maybe there was a way... He still believed. Even with the undertones of what he and Riku had just been through, just done to one another... the ultimate truth of it remained.   
"Be strong for me." He whispered, allowing one small portion of time to wrap his arms around the shaking boy underneath. Just once, just one fucking moment... blood and dirt stuck to his chest, reminding him just like the mark he'd made. "I won't be long. I promise, I'll come back. I'll find a way to end this and I'll come back."   
Those brilliant blue eyes had begun to cloud, just a little. It was coming, and he knew it. He hated it, he loathed the impending numbness... and god, how he feared it... All he wanted, all he _needed_, was moving away from him again. Forced, this time. Knowing, this time... but having to turn and run all the same. He opened his mouth to plead _something_, but no sound came of it. His throat was pained with a sob he could not recover from, the darkness quickly moving to take power again...   
"It's okay, Riku." The brunette assured, his words moving quickly out of necessity. He pulled back, getting ready to retreat--but allowed himself one quick touch; his palm--that calloused, dry, ancient-feeling palm--rested only for the ghost of a second against the other's wet cheek, taking in the vision of those blue eyes before they could ever be forgotten. "I love you. I'll come back for you!" And with that promise, he grasped the Keyblade, no matter given to the soreness ripping through his body, nor to the torn clothing left behind--and ran.   
"Sora!" he cried, his voice rising an octave with a burst of agony. "I--I love... So--"   
He couldn't look back. From the depths of his very being, he knew to look back was to throw it all away. He could picture it happening clearly, though, super-imposed over his eyes even as he tried to keep a look-out for anything in his path that may try to trip him up. Riku's blue eyes were clouding over again. With what, he wasn't sure... but he knew their sheen was lost underneath whatever presence had taken his body again. At least that much had been marked to remember... marked with the Keyblade Master's own name across his chest.   
It hurt to run... physically and mentally it hurt so goddamn much to run... but it would be okay. All the pain... he could take all the pain in the world if only it weren't all for nothing...   
A reason to fight... a reason to go on... and a reason to be sorry again. That last part held no more meaning, though. He would make it right. He'd have to. It was promised in blood. 

* * *

I can only blame so much of this on listening to U2's "Always" right after select portions of Utada Hikaru's "Simple and Clean" techno/PLANITb remix... but it made for a perfectly horrible moment, didn't it? Believe it or not, this didn't even end as darkly as I had expected it to. Amazing. That's U2's doing, so thanks goes to them for a little bit of everything. Of course.   
I can't see myself writing anything more in this arc/universe, I will admit that. It feels complete, now, in the way I can write it. Do I still have ideas for how the story will progress? Oh hell yes. But I just don't think I'm capable... right now, anyway. Hey, never say never. I'm really amazed that I like how this came out. So... well. That's it. 


End file.
